


He/She

by Dewy_Peach



Series: FrUK Week 2019 [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (but mostly love and acceptance), Angst, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Multi, Nationverse, Personal Growth, Romance, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, canonverse, genderfluid!France
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewy_Peach/pseuds/Dewy_Peach
Summary: It's alright if it takes time to figure yourself out; for France it took centuries, but at last, he's learning to love and accept himself - and herself - the way they are.





	1. Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [She](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483738) by [SnowyWolff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff). 
  * Inspired by [He](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986226) by [Lotus_Dumplings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotus_Dumplings/pseuds/Lotus_Dumplings). 



> I've had the headcanon of genderfluid France for quite some time. A while ago Yuki posted the work [She](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483738/chapters/41176646) (a drabble series about trans girl Romano). She inspired Lotus to write the series [He](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986226/chapters/42486314) (about trans man Prussia), and both of these amazing works inspired me to finally dedicate a series to my France!  
> I will keep updating with more drabbles as I write them! :>

“Francis? Are you there?” Loud footsteps outside of the door. “What happened to the mirror?”

The door swung open.

England’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, lying between heaps of discarded dresses and stockings, her hair tangled, face wet with tears and smeared makeup. She cringed and pulled the blanket over her face, not wanting him to see her like that, and not wanting to see his reaction to her miserable state. She’d always had a tendency for overreacting, and the last thing she wanted was for England to think that she was making a scene-

“Marianne,” England said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Footsteps again, moving towards her. Then the mattress squeaked and she felt his weight settling down next to her.

“What happened?”

France’s chest heaved with another sob, and she fought to hold it back. “Nothing- I just can’t...” She stuttered to a stop. It was always so hard to talk about that, even with England. The words felt stuck in her throat.

“You can tell me,” he said patiently. “You know I don’t mind.”

“I can’t pass.” She screwed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. “It was so easy when I was younger. And now…” her voice faltered. “I don’t usually mind the way I look, you know. But when I’m feeling _this way_ … It just doesn’t fit.”

There was a moment of frightening silence.

“I know it feels hard,” England said at last. “But I think you’re pretty good at it. I think you pass perfectly.”

“Oh, _please.”_ She shook her head, the blanket shifting from side to side with her movements. “Just _look_ at me.”

“Well, I would love to,” he says with a hint of a smile in his voice, “but all I’m seeing is a bundle of blankets.”

That startled a laugh out of her, which immediately turned into a sob. She pulled the blanket down just enough to carefully peek at England.

He reached a hand and run it through her hair, then wiped her cheek with his thumb. “I remember when I first saw you,” he said out of nowhere, his tone distant. “Picking flowers in that white dress. I thought you were a girl. When you told me you weren’t, I thought I’d been mistaken.” He smiled at her. “Turns out I was right all along.”

France smiled back despite herself. “Not completely.”

“Well, you were a girl at that moment.” He pauses. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Her smile grew a little embarrassed, and a hint of pink appeared in her cheeks. She rolled her eyes.

“I mean it.” England looks at her very seriously. “I remember how I felt... I almost couldn’t believe you were real. I feel the same way when I look at you now. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Marianne.”

France opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She could tell that he meant it. In England’s eyes, she saw herself the way he did, the way she’d dreamed of being seen.

The way he looked at her made her feel real.

She put her arms around him and pulled him down to her side, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. “Thanks, Arthur. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry about the mirror…”

“It’s ok.” He grinned. “I guess I’ll just have to do your makeup from now on.”

She laughed again, much more cheerfully now. “And my hair too?”

“Sure.”

“That would be something.”


	2. Understand

“Feliks,” France said, “can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure,” Poland replied absently, sipping his hot chocolate and gazing out of the cafe window at the rainy street outside. It was very cozy inside, with the chatter of people around, the radio hazily playing Edith Piaf and the steady tapping of the rain.

“How did you _know_ that this is who you are?”

“What?” Poland stirred and turned his eyes towards him.

“I mean… that you’re a man?”

“Ah. Well, I knew,” he said simply. “How do you know that _you’re_ a man?”

France didn’t reply. Poland stared at him for a moment, confused - then his eyes widened. “Oh...” He drew out the syllable slowly. “You don’t. Do you?”

“Maybe.” France gave a wry smile. “You saved me the trouble of telling you myself.”

“You’re saying you’re not sure?” Poland tapped his mug thoughtfully. “Well, what feels most right to you?”

“That’s the thing.” France sighed. “I don’t know. I think I’m not always a man. But most of the time I feel fine. There are days when I’m so comfortable being a man that I feel like I’m just… making it all up. Imagining it. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“If you feel it,” Poland pointed out gently, “then it’s there.”

“But I could live my life like this.” France threw his arms in the air helplessly. “I mean, it’s only here and there that it feels wrong. Sometimes I feel like it’s pointless to declare it, or admit it -- if all in all I’m fine with who I am.”

Poland frowned. “That’s a completely wrong attitude. It doesn’t matter if you _could_ live like this. The question is - would it make you happy? We live such long lives, Francis. Do you really want to spend all those years pretending to be someone else?”

France, taken aback, took a long sip of his coffee to give himself time to think. Poland set his elbows on the table and leaned closer, looking intent. “Would it feel right if, when you felt that way, I addressed you as a woman?”

France looked down. “Yes.”

“Then it’s true.” Poland’s frown turned into a warm smile. “And you shouldn’t doubt it. And if I hear you say something like _what if I’m making it up_ again, I’ll board a plane immediately and come over to put some sense into your head.”

 


	3. Clouds

France leans against the black metal railing of her balcony, looking out over a grey overcast Paris. She’s wearing a lilac nightgown with black lace trim. It’s quite chilly, but she stays there, enjoying the subtle melancholy of the scene.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The door behind her opens and closes; a moment later, England wraps his arms around her and kisses her neck. The contrast between the cold wind and the warmth of his bare skin makes her shiver. She smiles. “I’ve been thinking about telling Alfred and Matthew.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “Do you feel ready?”

France doesn’t reply, but a little worried frown forms between her eyebrows.

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he notes. “They’re more mature than we sometimes give them credit. And they care about you. They know you. To be honest, I don’t think it will come as much of a surprise to them.”

“I know… I think.” She shifts and settles comfortably into him, closing her eyes. “But if they won’t accept it, I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with that.”  _ Back when I thought  _ you _ didn’t…  _ she thinks, but drops the thought there, refusing to revisit that terrible time.

“I can help,” England murmurs into her ear. “If you want me to, I can be there when you tell them.”

“Maybe.” She finds his hand and squeezes it gratefully. “I’ll give it some thought.”

“Yeah, don’t rush it.”

France nods, and shivers again. 

“You’re cold,” he notices, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. “Shouldn’t we go back inside?”

“So you can get me all warmed up?” She teases.

“Oh, certainly.” England grins. “But only if you want me to.”

“How could I say no to that?”

 


	4. Fighting

It was their first meeting after the end of the Napoleonic wars, and they spoke hesitantly and carefully, as they did after fighting; the tension in the air was tangible. Perhaps it was no surprise that their conversation spiralled downhill.

“You did such a good job at disguising yourself as a rigid gentleman, I can barely recognise you,” France said with half a smile. 

England’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the dress draped over the back of a chair, the makeup brushes scattered in front of the mirror. France hadn’t bothered to hide anything because that was the one thing England had never judged him for, even when that meant going against the rest of the world. 

But today he was different. “And I see you’ve stayed the same,” he said, with a hint of reproach. Things have changed in his country; the worlds of the sexes became more separated than ever, their roles more sharply defined. France knew he had to keep up appearances, but they were alone now. 

“And what about that?”

England looked troubled. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. “There’s something you need to understand, Francis. Men and women belong in different spheres in life, and have different paths to follow-” 

France felt the blood draining from his face.

“-What I’m trying to say,” England continued, “is that I’ve learned that there’s a proper way to act as a man, and a proper way to act as a woman.”

“And where do I fit in in this doctrine, Arthur?”

“Why don’t _ you  _ tell me that?”

France smiled an icy smile. “What do you mean by that?”

England pressed his lips into a thin white line. “I mean it’s high time you decided if you’re a man or a woman!” he burst out all of a sudden. “You can’t keep on trying to be both forever!”

France’s lips moved silently for a moment, and when he finally regained his voice the words came out in a pathetic whisper: “you promised you’d always be on my side.”

England threw his arms in the air helplessly. “Well, I was young then! We both were. We didn’t know better. But it’s time to grow up now. It’s time for you to find your place in the world.”

France’s mind went blank. “Go away,” he said.

England’s eyes flashed with regret. “Francis, I just don’t want you to make your own life harder-”

“ _ Go away _ !” France’s voice shook with anger and betrayal. “I don’t need your sympathy, you goddamn liar. I was right - you’ve changed, and I don’t know who you are now.”

England left then, sparing him a last worried glance behind his shoulder before closing the door.

France sat down, ruffling the hem of the dress between his fingers. His shoulders started shaking, and then he started silently crying, knowing that he was now well and truly alone.

England came knocking several times afterwards. He apologised, pleaded to be let in. He slid letters under the door. France threw them in the fire without reading them. 

He needed time to think things through.

 


	5. Starting Over

It was almost a year before he agreed to meet again. 

They walked side by side down the river, scarves tucked tightly into their coats and hand in their pockets, breath misting in the air. “I want to apologise,” England said.

“I know,” France replied. “But I want to say something first.”

In the time that passed since their previous meeting, he’d done a lot of thinking. Did he want to welcome England back into his life, after the things he’d said? Did he want to explain himself to him, and hope for understanding? Did England deserve to understand him?

He didn’t quite know what he thought yet.

“What you said last time…” he began. “It was all things that I’ve been thinking to myself for a long time. That I have to decide who I am, that I can’t keep going like this. That perhaps the way I’m living is wrong… That’s why it hurt so much to hear it from you. Because a part of me thought you might be right.”

England opened his mouth, his expression sorrowful, but France held up a hand and he fell silent. “I have thoughts like that sometimes, so I understand why you said it. But it’s wrong. I know it now more than ever. I can’t decide, because I  _ am  _ both. A man and a woman.”

“I know,” England said softly.

France turned to look at him, surprised.

“I’ve always known, really.” His voice was shaking. “I was a fool to try and deny that... Even if that’s what everyone else expected of me. This is just who you are, and I can’t change it.”

“Would you want to change it?”

“That’s not what I meant.” England frowned and shook his head. “When I say this is who you are, I mean this is who you were meant to be, and this is how you should be.” 

France gave the smallest smile. “I think so too.”

They walked in silence for a while, cold wind blowing into their faces. “I want to be there for you from now on,” England said at last, fumbling for words. “For real, this time. I want to... help you with it. But I don’t really know how.”

“I can help you with that,” France said, then chuckled. “For a start, there’s a name…”

“Marianne, wasn’t it?”

France looked at him, surprised. “How did you know?”

“You said so, after the revolution.”

Right. That time was a blur.

“It fits you,” England said. “I can call you that.”

“Right now it’s quite fine. I’m Francis now.”

England smiled hesitantly. “I know. I can tell.”

France thought about taking his hand, but there was still too much hurt inside of him. He didn’t know if he could ever forget what England had said, or forgive him - but they could try to get over it together.


	6. Carefree

Spain wrote one day in their chat group that “It’s been ages since we all met up :<” and “I’M BUYING YOU GUYS DINNER” so, with some effort, the three of them managed to schedule a night out, and they went to a restaurant. The place was lively, with good wine and a band playing traditional Spanish music. Hearing Spain and Prussia chattering about the new turns in their lives, France realised that he’d missed them quite a lot. 

Their waitress was wearing a light green summer dress, and smiled particularly at France when she took their order. He grinned back at her and her cheeks grew slightly redder. when she turned her back to them and walked away, France said in a small voice: “I wonder what would she think if she knew I had a dress just like that one.”

“Who cares?” Spain shrugged. “You think too much. Just let go of worry for the night.”

Prussia snickered. “Yeah, be like Tonio, there’s nothing in his head and look how happy he is!”

“Hey!”

“Anyway, Francis, you probably wear that dress better.”

France was laughing when the waitress returned with their drinks. She smiled at him again. “I remember you from last year’s Fashion Week,” she said. “You had a lovely pink dress with glitter. I just wanted to say that I really like your style.”

“Oh,” France replied, dumbfounded. “I- thanks. I like your dress, too.”

Spain winked at him cheerily when she left. “You see? Everything works out perfectly.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Prussia said, raising his glass.

France raised his own glass. “To everything working out perfectly!”

“And to empty and worry-free heads,” Spain added.

It was a good idea to go out tonight, France thought as they clinked their glasses together.


	7. Bloom

One morning, Marianne looks in the mirror and something about her reflection catches her eye. Something’s different.

On the surface, it's all the same as the day before - from her flat chest, through her wide shoulders, to her sharp jaw and the stubble darkening it. 

But there's something else, shining through her reflection, something undeniably feminine that seems clear as daylight. Perhaps it's the way she holds her body, the way she moves; perhaps it's her expression. Whatever the reason, her reflection seemed different, familiar and new at the same time. 

It’s like visiting a familiar spot, in a completely different time of day than usual - like twilight or a moonlit evening, when everything seems strange and magical and the place takes on a different personality. 

Marianne grins and shifts her weight, resting a hand on her hip. Suddenly she notices the elegant curve of her waist, the rosy blush in her cheek, her eyelashes, long and delicate. 

She's a woman, and she feels beautiful. 

If anyone else looked at her now, would they be able to see it? 

After a moment of thought, she realises she doesn't care. 


	8. Panties

“I don’t feel like getting up…” France yawned. 

“You can do it,” England said absently, his eyes fixed on his laptop’s screen. He liked waking up early, and was already deep into his daily work. 

France, on the other hand, preferred sleeping in. Rubbing his eyes, he groggily sat up and reached for the closet door. He pulled out a button-up shirt, then opened the underwear drawer.

For a moment, he just blinked at it, confused.

“Arthur,” he said slowly, “why is everything pink or lacy or both?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of England’s lips. “I recall going shopping with a lovely lady named Marianne yesterday. She said she needed new underwear, and we passed by a display with pastel coloured lingerie-”

France groaned. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried to remind you that you were in need of boxers as well, but you wouldn’t even take a look at them-”

“I remember,” France said miserably, dropping back onto the mattress with a sigh. “I have no self-control.”

England laughed. “You’re just enjoying your newly-found freedom.”

“Well, what will I wear now?” France asked. “All of my man-stuff is in the laundry.”

“Are you going anywhere?”

“No?” France’s eyebrows rose. 

England’s smile grew somewhat devilish. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

“I can’t believe it!” France rubbed his eyes. “England, making a dirty joke?”

England was practically grinning now. “Who said I was joking?”

“Well,” France said, “if you insist, I really don’t mind going around naked-”

“Just kidding.” England cleared his throat and returned his gaze to his screen. “I’m too busy for a distraction like that. Just take a pair from my drawer.”

France stared at him, then shook his head to himself. England had been full of surprises lately. But, France thought as he took a pair of awful old-man undies from England’s drawer, most of them were not unpleasant.


	9. La Vie En Rose

“You should rest.”

“Okay. Can you sing something for me?”

France has been lying in bed all day with a red nose, a cough and a mountain of used tissues slowly piling up next to her. England came over immediately when he heard, and seemed horrified when he found her. “How did this even happen?” He asked. “You never get sick.”

That wasn’t entirely true - she did get sick, just very rarely. “I guess all that’s been happening lately started to get to me.” She smiled. “Or maybe I just spent a bit too much time standing on the terrace in my stockings.”

Now there’s an almost-empty mug of England’s “magic tea” sitting in her lap, her free hand rests in his, and her eyelids are beginning to droop.

“Sing you something?” he repeats, surprised. “Such as what?”

“I don’t know. Something romantic?”

He laughs. “Suddenly my head is empty.”

France gives him a sleepy smile. 

“Alright. I think I have something.” England clears his throat.

_ “Hold me close and hold me fast...” _

France begins laughing immediately, and at the same time feels her eyes welling up. 

“What?” England stops. “Something else?”

“No. I’m just…” France wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Surprised and touched, is all.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Please go on.”

England starts over. 

_ “Hold me close and hold me fast _

_ The magic spell you cast _

_ This is la vie en rose” _

France closes her eyes as the room fills with his warm honey voice and a melody that will always make her heart sting in the sweetest way. 

_ “...When you press me to your heart _

_ I'm in a world apart _

_ A world where roses bloom…” _

She knows England could sing it in French perfectly if he wanted to, but somehow it sounds more fitting in his language, as if the words are his own, meant for her.

_ “...And when you speak _

_ Angels sing from above _

_ Everyday words seem _

_ To turn into love songs...” _

France starts drifting off towards sleep, and the words fade into a quiet haze. She doesn’t stir when England reaches the end of the song, gently takes the tea mug from her lap and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well, angel,” he whispers before leaving the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up in the middle of the night with this song stuck in my head, and that’s what inspired this drabble.   
> If you know how the song ends you know that Marianne falls asleep before the most important part, but that’s ok, she knows how it ends too, and they both have each other’s hearts and souls anyway


	10. Birthday Presents

France’s phone rang when she was in the bathtub. Mildly annoyed, she reached a dripping hand out of the layer of lavender scented foam to pick it up. The caller screen said _Prusse._

She put the phone to her ear. “Gilbert? Is it urgent? I’m sort of busy.”

“ _Well, in a way.”_ He sounded rather distressed. _“What mode are you in?_ ”

Despite herself, she smiled. “Girl.”

“ _Good. I need some feminine wisdom.”_

France laughed. “I don’t know if I have any to offer.”

_“Naw, I know you do. Listen, Chiara has her birthday next week and I don’t know what to get her. Do you have any ideas?”_

“Just a second…” France turned on the tap and held the phone next to the roaring stream. “I can’t hear you very well,” she yelled, “there’s a lot of noise here, I’ll call you back in a few minutes, okay?”

“ _Uh.. Alright?_ ”

She hung up.

Then, immediately, called a different number from her contact list.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey Chiara, it’s Marianne. Remember when you said you didn’t like surprises?”

Chiara’s voice sounded suspicious. “ _Yeah?”_

“Well, if - hypothetically - you could choose what your boyfriend would get you for your birthday, what would it be?”

_“Pff. Did he ask you for advice?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _Hmm…”_ there was silence on the line for a moment. “ _I don’t know. What did Arthur get you for your birthday?”_

“I'm not telling. You’ll just say we’re an old married couple.”

“ _No, I won’t. Promise._ ”

“Well,” France said, “he took me to the opera, and then to dinner at a restaurant, and he also got me a perfume and a body cream from this brand that I like.”

“ _Ugh.”_ Chiara sounded disgusted. “ _You really are an old married couple.”_

France rolled her eyes.

_“But,”_ Chiara continued, “ _the opera thing got me thinking, there’s this band I like that’s performing here soon. Camel. Gilbert likes them too, so it would be nice to go together.”_

“Alright, noted. Aren’t they British, by the way?”

_“Yeah. Don’t tell Arthur, it’ll get to his head.”_

“I won’t,” France laughed. “Um, anything else you’d want?”

_“Maybe a necklace?”_

“Anything specific?”

_“Make it a surprise… As long as it’s pretty.”_

“Sure.” France shrugged. “I’m gonna call him back now.”

“ _Thanks, Marianne.”_

“No problem. Have a great day.”

“ _You too! We should hang out sometime."_

"Certainly. See you!"

France hung up and called Prussia again. By now, the foam was slowly disappearing around her. “Hey, Gil,” she said cheerfully. “What were you saying?”

_“Chiara’s birthday is next week! And I need help deciding what to get her.”_

“Well, look,” France began in her wisest tone, “the best present you could get your partner is a memorable experience. For example, last year Arthur took me to the opera, and it was a wonderful evening that I think back on fondly.”

_“The opera? What kind of old-”_

“Shut up. What I’m saying is take her to see something cool.”

_“That’s a good idea, but what exactly?”_

“Isn’t there maybe…” France pretended to think. “A band that you both like?”

_“Oh!”_ Gilbert cheered up. _“Yeah! There’s Camel. I think they’re even performing in Rome this month.”_

“So, there you go.”

_“Is just that enough though?”_

“Well, why don’t you get her something nice and romantic? Like, a bracelet, or a necklace?”

_“A bracelet sounds good.”_

France bit her lip. “Actually, I think maybe a necklace would be more romantic.”

_“You sure?”_

“Yes. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

_“Okay… If the Country of Love says so.”_

France made a face. “That sounds ridiculous.”

_“Camel and a necklace then,”_ Prussia said. _“Thanks so much, Marianne. I knew I could count on you.”_

“Always here to have your back, Gil.”

_“Aw, thanks."_

"Have a great day."

_"You too! Bye!"_

Sighing with relief, France sunk down into the bath, blowing bubbles and letting her hair float around her. She felt extremely satisfied with her scheme, and to congratulate herself, added another spoon of bath foam into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prussia and Romano in this chapter are from [Yuki's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff) series [She](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483738/chapters/41176646). I wanted to include them here because I love them and the series a lot, and I hope I did an at least decent job of it XD


	11. Identity

Marianne. The name was in her mind when she awoke, reborn; a name that meant liberty, for her people and for herself.

The time after the storming of the Bastille, the day she’d died fighting alongside her people, was chaotic. The leadership continued to change rapidly and the people didn’t know where the revolution’s road would lead. But for France, those days were defined by a kind of clarity she’d never experienced before. She was one with her people again, fighting to give them the life they deserved. She knew where she was headed, and the world of tomorrow seemed bright in her eyes. And she knew who she was: Marianne. The French Republic. the French Nation. 

And a woman.

Yes, those were the days in which she felt more certain of her identity than ever. Walking down narrow alleys, people gazed at her from shattered windows, from crooked doors, and from where they lay curled in rags on the side of the road. All those eyes were so hopeful and full of love. Knowing she stood by their side was what gave them the strength to make it to the end of the day. They believed in her, and that made her believe in herself.

That certainty carried her through the fall of the monarchy, the execution of the king, the violence that followed—the threats from outside and the reign of terror within. But as the years passed, the confidence slowly faded, and there it was again, his old self, Francis, sometimes so comfortable and fitting that it scared him. Was it all just a dream?

Then she was Marianne again, and she would hold tightly onto that image of herself, because she was scared of swinging in that space between a man and a woman, of being nothing. 

Sooner or later, though, it would always slip away from her.

From him.

From  _ her _ …

There were moments in which France felt as if the revolution was a storm that had gone and left him the same as he had been before it started—confused, trying to hide who he was. But it wasn’t true. Those days would always stay with him, that hope for a better future, that uncrushable belief in his own power. 

The next centuries were a painful journey, and France started it alone. Gradually she found others like her, among her kind and among humans as well. They were brave and beautiful, and their rebellion made her feel proud. 

The realisation slowly formed inside of France, but it was only when the one he loved most betrayed him that he said it—out loud, and to himself as well. _This is who I am: France, the French Nation, Francis, Marianne, and sometimes_ _just myself._

And it wasn’t nothing. It  _ was  _ something. Being both, or neither, was an identity by itself. France didn't know where they were headed, not even who they would be the following day. 

But did anyone know, really? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd share some headcanons here :) I've never done it before in any of my fanfics, but I guess now is a good time to start!
> 
> So, about my name choice for France's female name: I like using Marianne because it's the name of the national personification of France (since the French Revolution). It's also a personification of liberty, and I find it really fitting for France's female name to be this name that's tied with freedom and the start of a new life. I actually like imagining that Marianne (the "real life" personification) is actually France herself, or inspired by her, since I see nations as an embodiment of the spirit of the people. 
> 
> As for France's identity, I hc that France has changed their label several times. Like I wrote in this chapter, it was a long process. I feel like for most of France's life a nonbinary identity was simply an unthinkable concept, and so they kept switching between the binaries, trying to find the one that fits. They only began identifying as genderfluid in a relatively late stage, and are still learning to understand this label and live with it.
> 
> I wrote this for the 14th of July, and I'm late with posting, but still... Happy birthday France!
> 
> And big thanks to anyone who's still reading <3


	12. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the second day of the 2019 FrUK Week. Prompt: FACE(S) Family time.

After what felt like ages of worry, the moment had finally arrived. America, Canada and Seychelles were cramped together on the tea-stained sofa in England’s living room, and France and England were sitting across from them.  _ Just say what you have to say,  _ England had told France earlier that morning,  _ I’m with you. _

Yeah, well, easier said than done. 

France’s foot kept nervously jumping. She cleared her throat. “Alright, Uhm. Thank you all for coming.”

Seychelles frowned. “Why are you being so formal?”

France waved her hands apologetically. “Right, sorry. It’s nothing serious. I just have something to tell you.”

England took one of her hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

America looked between one of them to the other. “Guys,” he said slowly, “we already know we’re adopted.”

Seychelles snorted loudly, and Canada turned to America with a frown. “Can’t you be serious for five minutes?”

France was laughing. “It’s fine, Mathieu. As I said, it’s nothing serious.” She breathed in deep. “There’s something that’s been on my mind for—for some time, and I think you should know. Well, I want you to know.” 

She paused.  _ No point beating around the bush,  _ she thought, and opened her mouth to get straight to the point. Her heart pounded in her ears. 

And she couldn’t say it. It was as if the words were stuck in her throat.

Everyone looked at France expectantly. She turned his eyes to England, who nodded and smiled.

She took another deep breath, exhaled and tried again. “I’m genderfluid,” she blurted out.

Her three children glanced at each other. “Okay,” America said. Canada and Seychelles nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Cool.”

France sunk back into her chair, feeling the tension rush out of her in an overwhelming wave. “Okay,” she repeated feebly. 

“You know, we sort of had an idea,” Canada said, almost apologetically.

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Seychelles smiled. “We know you. At least a bit.”

“Um,” America said. “I know this is very  _ me  _ of me to say, but I think it’s pretty cool? It’s like a superpower. Like shape-shifting.” He winced when his siblings shot him glares again. “Really, I’m being serious!”

“Anyway, It’s good to sometimes not be the only woman in the family,” Seychelles said.

"Speaking about that," France said in a small voice. "Today is one of the days when I feel more like a lady."

"We should go shopping later then," Seychelles said, her eyes shining. 

"But we do that anyway," France chuckled. 

"It's different now that I know," she insisted. "We're gonna have a girls’ day out. We can try on dresses and talk about dating."

"I talk to you about dating," Canada said. 

"It's different," she replied. "You don't get it. It's feminine solidarity."

America shrugged helplessly at his brother. "It's not our moment, Mattie."

France felt so relieved and warm inside that she couldn’t do much more than just smile widely at all three of them. “I was so scared of telling you,” she confessed. “So, so scared.”

“Why?" Canada asked. "You know we don’t mind. Right?”

“Yeah, dude, we really don’t mind.”

“I think I knew,” France said. “But I kept thinking about  _ what if you wouldn’t _ .”

“How long have you known?” Canada asked.

France thought about it. “I think I’ve been  _ certain  _ for around a hundred and fifty years.”

“Must have been hard to keep it from us for so long,” Canada said quietly.

“It’s alright now,” France said lightly. She felt like her heart was going to burst. 

England leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

“We are too,” America said. “Good job, pa—ma,” he corrected himself. 

"That's so weird," France said, her voice getting a bit shaky. "But… it’s also nice."

“I have something to tell everyone too,” Seychelles said suddenly.

France looked at her. “Yeah?”

She smiled nervously. “I have a girlfriend. We’ve been dating for around three months.”

Everyone broke out cheering, and America lifted Seychelles up and swung her around. 

“No way!” France yelled enthusiastically. “My little girl…”

“We want to meet her,” England added. “Bring her over, I’ll make dinner!”

“Please don’t,” Canada said.

“I’ve gotten better!” England protested. “Tell him, Marianne.” His eyes widened when he saw France’s face. “Oh God, why are you crying?”

“I’m fine,” France mumbled, wiping her eyes with his sleeve. “I’m just really happy…”

“Oh, Marianne…” England pulled her to his chest. “It’s alright.”

“I  _ know _ it’s alright!” 

Canada moved close and put his arms around her as well. “Mom’s crying,” he called over her shoulder. 

“What?” America gently put Seychelles down and they both rushed over, joining the group hug. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, sniffing. “I guess I’m just really glad to have you, and I’m really happy that we’re — you know, getting along and — and being a family like this.” 

“The best family,” America said with a grin.

"Yeah…" Seychelles smiled dreamily. "It's really nice like this."

Everyone nodded their agreement to that.

“Alright, I’m ok,” France said again. She gently pushed them away. 

"You sure, darling?" 

"Yeah."

England handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose loudly into it. Then she looked at Seychelles expectantly. “Come on, tell us her name then.”


End file.
